


from where you are

by lookingforatardis



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence, Soft Boys, reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Some Oliver thoughts, set probably around 10 years after he left Elio.While contemplating Elio's presence in his life even after all this time, Oliver spots Elio on the streets of New York.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 39
Kudos: 142





	from where you are

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this mostly on a plane, and after finishing it I thought of a song by lifehouse that doesn't quite fit the fic, but does enough that I used it for a title. Listen to it for some rough elio x oliver feels. 
> 
> I tried posting this to tumblr but it kept rearranging the paragraphs and wouldnt let me change them back... so here we are lol

The memories I had of him had grown clouded over the years, but some things remained crystal. The curve of his spine when he laid on the bed next to me, how his ankles crossed under the water over my feet, the way he toyed with his necklace between his lips, these were all vivid. The sound of his voice when he woke up or feel of his skin was lost, as was the particular image of him showing off at the piano though I tried to remember often. There were days my sons would say something and he was there in the kitchen, boisterous and affectionate and unapologetic in how he loved me, and I would blink and he would be gone, lost once more to my parallel life.

Elio had haunted enough of my life for it stop startling me after a few years, and eventually it stopped settling in my bones as an ache and began blossoming like a visit from an old friend. He would pop up in memory and greet me with that faint tilt of his lips and hands that clasped each other and my own, look me in my eyes, and remind me of the freshest air I had ever breathed. Our time had been so limited that I couldn't help but absorb these fleeting memories as if they were Elio himself coming to me. I always knew one day I would have to return to him, find some way to reconcile the Elio I knew without him, and the Elio I had shared myself with years ago.

It happened one spring day, midmorning. My sons were in elementary school and my wife off on her latest attempt to feel something other than discontent. I had chosen to walk to work despite the subway being a faster route. The air was still brisk with winter, but the sun had begun promising warmth. The coffee shop my wife preferred had a line around the corner, so I opted to wait until I was closer to campus for a bagel and coffee.

He was leaning against a building with a napkin in his hand, a pen in the other jotting something down quickly. Headphones covered his hair and ears and he was focused, so focused he didn't move when someone nearly bumped into him. A messenger bag was slung over his shoulder and the top button of his shirt was still undone, his tie sloppy around his neck as if he threw it on in his haste to get out the door.

Even from across the street, I could see how time had changed him. His form had filled out, his hair a bit more tamed, a dusting of facial hair along his jawline. The sight of him took my breath away; he had been handsome before, but he was stunning now. The intensity with which he scribbled something out, drummed his fingers along his leg, and began writing again told me he must transcribing or composing, and for the first time in years I began to ache for his attention. Look up, I wanted to shout. Just look up and see me seeing you, and perhaps this dream will end and I will return to your bed and our room and the life we could have had.

He looked up, eyes skimming the area before settling. My hands shook. I watched his mouth drop open, eyes wander my body-- a look of confusion passed over him that quickly shifted and transformed into something profound and meaningful and complex-- I wanted to know what he was thinking, why he looked at me in that way, but he began moving towards me with so much purpose that my mind seized.

"Oliver," he said, and I remembered his voice in my ear when we were too exhausted to sleep, when he would wake up and call me Elio, when it was just the two of us in the house and he would shout it or laugh it or breathe, _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver._

"Elio." His eyes fluttered like my stomach and the rush around us might as well have been white noise. How many years, days, seconds had I spent without his eyes? They were meaningless the second he looked at me, saw me. "You've grown," I said, desperate to make him stay for another moment, to create some sort of conversation that might turn into another, then another, until we could find our way once more.

"I'm a man now." His voice had a lightness to it, almost as if he was poking fun.

"You were always a man." He smiled then, as if I had found a secret he had kept hidden and spoke it out loud.

"I've missed you," he told me.

"I've missed you as well."

"You look well." I did not pretend not to notice his eyes along my body, just as he made no attempt to hide his interest. "Still running?"

"When I can," I smirked. He hummed in response but there was something behind his eyes that brought memories forward in my mind of his teasing back then.

"I like the beard."

"I like yours--"

"Oh it's hardly a beard."

"Still. It looks nice." What I wanted to say was everything about him looked nice, even more than I remembered. Time had been kind to him and despite the dreams I had, he stood before me more stunning than ever. I wanted to brush my fingers over the delicate dusting of scruff on his jaw and feel the roughness of it as my own. I wanted to know what it would feel like to kiss him now, with more experience and more substance. Would he taste the same, feel the same? Would I still be able to press my palm against the side of his neck and feel his pulse jump and settle beneath my touch? Would his hands still find my skin with the same eagerness as before?

"I'm afraid I have a lesson to get to," he said. All thoughts ceased. Of course, I said. It would be fleeting, our encounter. I stepped back as if to allow him more space to leave me, but his body filled it immediately. "I would like to see you again," he told me, eyes open and honest. "If you wouldn't mind." His words held a haunting memory, one neither of us mentioned.

I gave him my number and prayed to God that I might hear from him soon. His fingers tucked the paper with my information into his coat pocket before hesitating. Our eyes met and I understood without him needing to ask that he was hoping l, just as I had been, that we might embrace. I pulled him towards me.

Suddenly, he was holding me for the first time in our bedroom, his breath against my neck, arms holding my heart in my chest while the rest of him simply gave meaning to whatever existence I lived. My lives, split before in the moment I left him, came together with such force that his fingers dug into my spine as I held him closer. I needed to feel every inch of him, relearn the smell of his body and the purity of his love. " _Elio_ ," whispered against my skin at the hallow of my throat, a lifetime of sleepwalking ceasing instantly. He was there, he was alive and in my arms and everything I had forgotten and everything I clung to in his absence. I know not how long we stood on the sidewalk, but his body was mine when I found his ear, spoke my name into it, and felt his touch sag. 

I don't remember who pulled away; one moment, we were together, the next, he was walking away. I forget the rest. 


End file.
